


The Captain's Wife

by watchoutforfallingdinosaurs



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Dom/sub Undertones, Drama & Romance, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Sensuality, basically this is "which one of us gets to be the dom": the fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:17:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3959014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchoutforfallingdinosaurs/pseuds/watchoutforfallingdinosaurs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a routine diplomatic journey, Princess Anna is taken captive by Hans Westergaard, now captain of a band of pirates, and is held hostage to be ransomed off to her sister. But as the days go by with no indication that she'll ever be brought home, Anna is left to wonder if Hans is willing to part with her at all...and if that unwillingness can be used to her advantage.</p>
<p>Originally posted on Tumblr. Inspired by anon post about Hans taking over the French dignitary's ship and becoming a pirate captain rather than facing trial at home.</p>
<p>With significant contributions from Tumblr users saemi-the-dreamer (translation: English-French) and tindez (story/characterization)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He knows it isn’t exactly wise, but when he sees the crest the sail bears—a blooming flower against purple and green, unmistakably Arendelle’s—Hans simply cannot resist.

It only gets better when he sees her, eyes ablaze and strawberry hair undone, fending off two of his men with nothing but the long handle of a broom. Something light and electric spreads across his chest as Hans notices her eyebrows furrowed in anger, a twisted delight in watching her struggle, perhaps. He can’t say that she feels the same; when Hans calls her name, he watches Anna’s head whip around, eyes darting, searching for a friend and finding...well, the two could hardly be considered friends.

Hans is pleasantly surprised once more upon learning that she’d been travelling _alone_ , on a diplomatic voyage in Queen Elsa’s stead. He’d assumed initially that Elsa had been on board as well, and though Hans had been somewhat eager to exact revenge on the “Snow Queen,” taking Anna as a hostage is a stroke of luck beyond his wildest dreams. He’s not sure quite yet how exactly he’ll be using her, but Hans plans to hold onto this valuable piece for the time being. The moment will present itself. It always does.

When he enters Anna’s cell, she is livid, and his heart skips a beat, though he’d expected nothing less. “Stay away from me,” she cries through gritted teeth.

“Good evening to you as well, Anna.”

“Elsa will stop you—”

“Your sister, however _talented_ she may be, can’t rightly freeze the entire ocean.”

“She’ll find me—”

“She won’t.” Hans can’t suppress his grin any longer, triumph surely written all over his features. “You, my dear Anna, are as good as lost.”

Anna opens her mouth to speak, then closes it, frustration and sadness etched into her brow.

Hans pouts in mock disappointment. “Now, now, Anna, don’t look so glum. Or is my company not enough for you?”

“It’s more than enough, believe me,” she snaps, refusing to meet his eyes. “In fact, why don’t you go? I’ve had enough talking for one evening.”

He pauses, looking for the words that will sting most. “Would you prefer to dance, my lady?” Slowly, low in his voice, Hans hums the waltz to which they danced; Anna’s nostrils flare as she flushes, and his cruel laugh is genuine.

“That was a mistake. I deserved much better than you,” she hisses, and the spite in her voice makes every inch of his skin feel a touch warmer.

“So you did,” Hans affirms, undeterred. “Speaking of which, how is the fiancé? Well, the _second_ fiancé, the _common_ one...an _ice_ _harvester_?”

Anna sucks in her breath quickly. “How did you—”

“Gossip travels the seas almost as quickly as I do,” Hans replies. “That was one of the more interesting pieces that reached my ears. How is your kingdom taking to the peasant?”

“The people of Arendelle _adore_ Kristoff.”

“They _adored_ me as well. Your people aren’t difficult to please, are they? I suppose it makes sense, they take after your example, foolish girl...”

Anna turns away and laughs derisively; the sound sends chills down his spine. “Pirates think women are bad luck on ships, don’t they? Pretty _foolish_ of you to bring me on board, then...”

Hans scoffs. “You forget I was 13th born; it would be more foolish to be concerned with luck after being born under stars like that.” He realizes too late that the bitterness is creeping into his voice, or it must be, because Anna’s chilly expression warms in the eyes; composing himself, Hans smiles. “But I’ve never needed luck.”

There is a long pause, and Hans nearly curses at his own foolishness, at how he’s lost his ground with the princess with one sentence. Taking care to put as much coldness in his voice as possible, Hans sneers down at her. “You, on the other hand, will need all of the luck that you can get.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Anna snaps, straightening up on her cot, and Hans finds that he’s holding his breath. When did she get so fiery?

“That surprises me, Anna.”

“Why?” There’s a moment in which her face contorts in embarrassment before she fixes her eyes upon him again, but Anna doesn’t flinch as he approaches. Hans attempts to mask the confusion that is sweeping through him; why isn’t she backing down?

“It surprises me,” he begins softly, leaning in close enough to feel her ragged breath on his lips, “because—”

He’s thrown to the side, a painful, tingling sensation on the left side of his face and a faint ringing in his ear. Apparently, Hans had gotten too close for comfort; when he looks back up at her, Anna’s eyes are narrow slits over reddening, dotted cheeks, her expression so utterly ferocious that Hans actually finds himself fighting down his own blush.

“I suppose I deserved that,” Hans says with a chuckle that he hopes sounds dispassionate, his true purpose being to get his lungs moving again; they are inexplicably tight. “I intended to have a meal sent to you, but you’ve made it _very_ clear that you aren’t hungry.” Hans hears her scoff but doesn’t look at her; he can’t, not even to sneer on his way out of the cell. “Good evening, Princess Anna.”

As he walks to his own quarters, the memory of her rage makes him feel as though a thousand tiny spiders are crawling on the back of his neck. Hans rubs his temples; he’s dizzy, almost drunk, but he hasn’t touched a spirit in days. Electricity is crackling across his heart again, the same delight he’d felt when...no, not delight, it couldn’t be delight...he’s fuming, he must be, crippled by a new kind of anger with which he is unfamiliar, a fury that only Anna can bring on.

He tries to remember the things his mother told him when he was a child, incensed by his brothers and his father and not getting his way: _deep breaths, darling, and count backwards from ten, slowly, with Mama, now, ten..._

Hans takes a deep, long breath through his nose, hoping that the sensation will subside.

_Nine..._

Exhale. The electricity surges, his body on fire with restless energy, and yet Hans has never felt so weak.

_Eight..._

He wants to turn around, to take Anna in his arms and...

_Seven..._

Throttle her, the impudent brat, how dare she strike him?

_Six_...

The breathing isn’t working, he’s gasping for air faster than he can breathe out.

_Five..._

Hans kicks over a chair, sinks against the wall and buries his face in his hands, but the only thing he can see is Anna...

_Four..._

...Princess of Arendelle, the kingdom he lost, _Anna lost you a kingdom, remember that..._

_Three..._

But he’s brought back to the first time she struck him, her freckled, scrunched-up nose and tight mouth, he hadn’t known she was capable of that kind of wrath...

_Two..._

...dear God, she’d never been more beautiful.

_One._


	2. Chapter 2

“Good evening, Anna.”

Assuming that she trusts him, that is. She won’t look at him, but the swish of his coattails tells her that he’s bowing. “Get up,” Anna snaps, tired of him patronizing her, of the mind games and the lies.

There’s a moment of complete silence before she hears him move again...did he hesitate? Anna doesn’t know, and doesn’t care. “What do you want, Hans?”

When she turns to face him, waiting for his answer, she can’t help gawking. Hans looks different, but she can’t figure out why. The cruelty behind his sweet smile hasn’t gone away, but it’s...less threatening, somehow. Anna can’t make sense of it, and doesn’t have the energy to try. Perhaps she’s just grown accustomed to him.

“I merely thought you might be lonely down here,” Hans answers, derision dripping from his every word. “It’s been three days since I last paid you a visit, after all.”

Anna starts. _It felt like so much longer..._  Balling her fingers into fists, Anna stands up from her cot, sending him the coldest glare she can muster. “Really? I barely noticed. I was having such a nice time without you.”

There it is _again_. Hans is the same as always—speech terse, mouth tight-lipped, posture impeccable—but there’s... _warmth_ in his eyes, sort of, that almost makes him look the way he did the day they met. Anna is nearly impressed with the way that he can fake that kind of tenderness, even after everything he’s done. For a moment, she almost believes it again...

“Were you? That, Princess, I have trouble believing.” His lips curl upward menacingly. “As I recall, you’re not particularly fond of being left alone.”

But she knows his heart, just as intimately as he knows hers. Maybe more.

Summoning all of her strength, Anna straightens, eyeing him down the bridge of her nose. “If you’re just here to make fun of me...actually, you know what? I don’t care why you’re here.” She breathes and relaxes her shoulders, lest Hans see her tremble. “I want you out.”

What happens next sets Anna’s pulse racing; Hans _flinches_ , not much, but she sees the twitch of his shoulders, hears the quick intake of breath. Is _he_ afraid of _her_? He can’t be. Hans isn’t afraid of anything, because he doesn’t _care_ about anything or anyone. He’s made that much perfectly clear. But the way he’s staring at her, eyes wide and unsure despite the coldness in his features...

Emboldened by his reaction, Anna forces herself to close the distance between them, trying not to let her apprehension show on her face. “Did you not hear me?” She feels strong, all of a sudden, and she laughs openly in his face. “I guess I hit you a little too hard the other day. I _said—_ ”

Her world narrows in an instant: to gloved hands cupping her face, the fabric sliding gently over her skin; to the rush of air past her cheek as Hans breathes deeply through his nose; to lips, crushed against her own, suffocating her, dizzying and firm at the same time.

Anna pulls back, stumbling over her own feet in her haste to get away. She wants to scream, curse, rage, but the words die in her throat. Only when her back hits the wall does Anna stop moving. Her hands claw at the surface, searching for escape, for something, anything, to steady herself, to stop herself from shaking, to stop the loathing that surges through her veins.

Hans seems to be just as shocked as she is. He’s rooted to the spot, attention still fixed on her, and finally Anna can place it, the intensity in his gaze. Bile rises in her throat and she has to break eye contact at the memory.

She’d seen that look on Hans’s face only once before, at Elsa’s coronation, out on the balcony...when he’d set his eyes on Arendelle.


	3. Chapter 3

She watches him like an animal cornered, hand clasped over her mouth, shoulders shaking as she presses her back tightly against the wall behind her, but as she glares daggers at him, Hans feels more like prey than a predator. His hands had acted of their own accord, and yet it is impossible to say that his kiss was unintentional, not when Anna had been so close, so _incensed…_ Behind his back, he clenches and unclenches his fists, trying to relieve the pressure that has built up inside of him, fighting the curious urge to beg for her mercy.

“What’s the matter, princess?” he sneers, taking care to stamp out the wavering in his voice. “I’ve only given you what you wanted in the first place.”

Anna makes a strangled sort of noise as she drops her hand, lifting her head slightly. Her face becomes suddenly hard, impassive. She pushes herself from the wall slowly, drawing herself up to her full height and in her effort to remain still, he can see her trembling—from fury, not fear. But she says nothing, only stares him down, her lips a thin, hard line, her jaw clenched.

He leaves her cell without another word and locks the barred door behind him, but hears no cry of protest.

As Hans strides swiftly back to his own quarters, the steady, consistent sound of his boots clacking against the wood is the only thing keeping him even halfway grounded. He doesn’t understand how the girl he thought he knew inside and out became this _woman_ , fiercer and stronger than he ever imagined that she could be; nor does he understand why it seems to make her so irresistible, how it makes him so frustratingly _weak_ in her presence…

He reaches his quarters much sooner than expected, so preoccupied with thoughts of Anna that he’d hardly noticed where he was. It isn’t particularly late, but mechanically, Hans undresses, feeling painfully aware of his solitude as he does so. His book remains untouched at his bedside; reading would be a welcome distraction, if it were possible for Hans to be distracted from the visions of Anna that persist. Instead, Hans blows out his candle and lays himself down, waiting for a sleep that never comes.

 ———————

He doesn’t visit her again for a week.

She hardly reacts when he opens the door, regarding him as though he were no more interesting than the ceiling at which she’d been staring so intently. “Hello, Hans.”

Hans doesn’t bother to feign offense at her bored tone, but her disinterest is oddly disappointing. “Good evening, Anna,” he answers, making sure to keep a safe distance from her; as much as he wants to close the distance between them, Hans isn’t interested in losing any more power over her. “And how are you feeling tonight?”

“Why does it matter? Do you have plans for me?” Anna asks plainly, with only the slightest trace of bitterness in her voice as she sits up. “You going to ransom me off? Kill me? Or are you just going to keep me here so that you can drop by and torment me when you’re in the mood?”

He’d intended to use her as a bargaining chip, but the thought of parting with her twists his insides into knots. “There will be a use for you yet,” Hans replies, rather vaguely. “Not to worry.”

She scoffs, and he begins to fiddle with his gloves and sleeves, hands itching with the desire to touch her. “Well, I’d rather not rot in this cell until you figure it out. I’d like a decent bed to sleep on, for starters. Maybe a chance at fresh air, if you’re feeling generous.”

Hans pauses for a moment before chuckling and raising his eyebrows at the indignant redhead. “You intend for me to give you free reign of the ship.”

“Why can’t I? Are you afraid I’ll try to escape? And go where?” Anna gestures to her surroundings with a shrug of her shoulders. “I can’t exactly…I don’t know, _swim home_.”

Despite her stony expression, she bites down on her lip and makes a sound halfway between a cough and a snicker; Hans realizes she’s made herself laugh. Unbidden into his mind come fleeting visions of Anna smiling, up on the decks, utterly entranced by something out on the water…Anna joining him for meals, eyebrows furrowed as they debate across the table…Anna knocking softly on the door to his quarters in the dead of night…he resists shaking his head to rid himself of the images, but all the same…

Would it be such a mistake, to let her go?

“I will consider it,” says Hans, but the decision has been made; he moves for the door, already making plans to prepare her a room immediately.

Anna isn’t satisfied with this answer, however; she crosses her arms in front of her chest and huffs. “I don’t want you coming in here again unless it’s to take me to my new room. Even then, if there’s anyone else you can get to do it, I’d appreciate it.”

Her words both flush his face and stop him cold. “You’re in no position to be making orders, Anna,” Hans warns.

“I don’t care. You give me a room, or you don’t come back. Or else.”

Hans hides the shortness of his breath with a light chuckle. “Or else what, Anna?”

“You don’t want to know,” she growls back.

_That_ , unbeknownst to Anna, is _entirely_ untrue, but there is no reason to enlighten her. “Sleep well, Anna,” Hans croons mockingly, reaching for the door as he leaves the room.

“No goodnight kiss this time?”

Hans freezes in the doorway at the derision and anger in her voice, turning his head over his shoulder just enough to make sure she’s still on her cot. He’d hoped so desperately that she wouldn’t say anything about it, but her question hangs menacingly in the air between them, waiting to be addressed. “Why, Anna, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound disappointed. I was under the impression that you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you’re under the right impression,” Anna replies smoothly, rising and approaching him at a leisurely pace. In the flickering candlelight, her sweet smile almost looks threatening, and there’s something triumphant about her half-lidded gaze.

“I just thought that maybe _you_ wanted one.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The point at which actual normal chapter length begins!

Anna searches for that flicker of something that she’d seen before, something real, but is only met with a cold, mocking laugh. “I fear you’ve misunderstood, princess.”

“Have I?” murmurs Anna, swallowing her disgust and reaching to let her fingers glide slowly through his auburn hair. Instinctually, she starts to rise up onto the balls of her feet before thinking better of it and, gripping the back of his head, bringing him down to her. “I don’t think I have.”

“You mean _nothing_ to me,” Hans sneers. His tone sends a shiver down her spine, but Anna stands her ground, refusing to allow him to shake her.

“I’ve been kissed like that before,” she replies coolly. “Whatever I mean to you, it isn’t _nothing_.”

The corner of Hans’s mouth curls up just a touch at her words, and his eyebrows quirk up for a moment, as if what she’s said isn’t so much amusing as it is naïve. “Would you like to know the truth?” he whispers, so close that she can almost feel his lips moving against her own.

She doesn’t want to know. Anna would rather live her whole life in the dark, in all honesty, but Hans admitting to whatever warped affection he has for her is sure to bring her one step closer to… _what, exactly?_

_Is this what was going through his head that night, when he…_

“I was merely reminding you, Anna, of which of us is in charge.”

Anna is so horrified by her own thoughts and so flabbergasted by the _complete stupidity_ of this statement that she lets her jaw drop. “What?!”

“I’d been incredibly lax with regard to your behavior,” Hans says matter-of-factly. He pulls back out of her grasp and squares his shoulders; in charge or not, he certainly seems determined to look it. “You’d grown openly hostile and impertinent, and I had no intention of allowing it to continue. Unorthodox as they may have been, however, my actions had the desired effect, although apparently they were not without other unforeseen consequences.” He arranges his features into some semblance of mock pity. “I’m terribly sorry if I’ve given you some sort of false hope. Old habits die hard, I suppose.”

Is he _seriously_ trying to put this on her or is he honestly that twisted? Anna opens her mouth to retort, but can only gape at him wordlessly like a water-starved fish before closing it again, studying everything about his face to find something that proves she’s right.

Hans doesn’t seem willing to give her anything; he takes one of her braids in his hand and allows it to slide over his fingers, watching as it falls back to her chest. “And while your attempt to seduce me was laughable at best, the sentiment is not unappreciated, I can assure you...I must say, I’m flattered.”

“You’re disgusting,” fumes Anna, pushing him further away with both hands.

“Not so disgusting that your little heart doesn’t still pound at the idea of spending your nights in my bed.”

Anna scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Ha, yeah…that’s _definitely_ not a thing, so…you keep telling yourself that, if—” She stops, her gaze locked onto his indifferent green eyes, his impeccable posture, his unbreakable mask of confidence and disdain.

She doesn’t need to search his features for honesty. The fact that she can’t find it, that he absolutely refuses to give her any, is proof enough.

Anna smirks, then innocently places her hands behind her back and rises up on her toes so that she and Hans are now cheek to cheek, her lips brushing against his ear. “If it makes you feel better about wanting me.”

Hans doesn’t flinch, doesn’t forget to breathe, doesn’t react at all apart from a dispassionate laugh, but he doesn’t need to. Anna knows exactly what this whole act is about. She feels him begin to open his mouth, probably to come up with some other cock-and-bull reason for his treatment of her, but before he can begin, a loud crash breaks the agonizing silence between them. The ship lurches back and forth violently, causing Hans to stumble and Anna to fall backward.

“What was _that_?” Anna asks, rubbing at her now aching rump. “Did we hit something?”

But he doesn’t bother to respond to her question; his eyes flicker up toward the deck, his hand instinctively reaching for the pistol on his hip. Before Anna has time to process his behavior, Hans bolts from her cell, locking her in with shaking hands and shouting in a language she can’t identify.

“Hans?!” Anna cries, heart racing, stomach turning—because hardly anything can shake this man, but he’s panicking, and all she wants to know is whether that’s good or bad for her, if it means she should be relieved or terrified. For a brief, shining moment, Anna thinks that maybe, just maybe, her sister has found her...

“ _Help!_ ” Anna screams. _Please, let it be Elsa, please, please…_ “ _Somebody help!_ ”

She screams the words over and over again, kicking and pulling at the door that holds her back, shrieking herself hoarse for what feels like hours, desperate to make herself heard over the gunfire and cries of pain from above her…

Until suddenly, _finally_ , there are footsteps in the hallway. “Look down that way, got to be down here in the hold…”

 _They speak Norwegian_. Anna wants to cry, she can’t believe it…her sister _did_ come for her, she _knew_ she would. “ _I’m in here!_ ” she cries frantically, pounding harder still on the door. “ _Help! I’m in here! It’s me! It’s Princess Anna!”_

Within moments, she hears them fiddling with the lock. But when the door is finally broken open, and Anna lays eyes on the two men…they don’t look like any men that her sister would send for her. The first is large, imposing, with a bushy black beard and scars that suggest that he’s seen more than his fair share of battles; the second, shorter and more slender, his beady eyes looking altogether more menacing than the eyes of her savior should. She tries to ignore the spots of blood on each of their shirts…

“Princess?” says the large man, strolling casually into her cell and cocking an eyebrow at his companion. “Thought there was only one o’ them aboard this ship.”

“Spoiled little boy’s rather particular, isn’t ‘e?” the other replies, approaching at an equally leisurely pace. “Common women not good enough for ‘im?”

Anna flushes, burning from her cheeks to her chest. “I’m not...he isn’t…I’m being kept _prisoner_.”

“Prisoner? You don’t look like no prisoner I’ve ever seen.” The large man looks her cell up and down, taking in his surroundings. “Made-up little bed there, lots o’ space, ain’t even bothered to restrain you…come to think of it, I don’t see no chains in here at all.” He runs his hand across the wall, eyeing her with amusement. “Captain’s got ‘imself a pretty little wife, ‘s what it looks like to me.”

“More like a pet,” the second man chirps, nudging at her plain cot with the toe of his boot.

“ ’S all the same, innit?” teases the first, and the both of them guffaw. Once their laughter has subsided, the larger man holds out a welcoming hand. “Don’ worry, Your Highness, we’ll get you out of here, safe and sound. Where you lookin’ to go?”

From somewhere down the hall, Anna can hear someone pounding on something, gunfire, muffled shouting from multiple male voices, one of them all too familiar…Anna hesitates, suddenly certain that she’s better off with the devil she knows.

“Nowhere,” she growls, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

The men’s laughter turns raucous and cruel. “Devoted all of a sudden, is she?” the large man scoffs. “Not a moment ago she was ready to jump ship.”

“Fickle, they are,” agrees the second, chuckling. “Wants to go home, but likes that pretty face too much to—”

With all her strength, Anna swings and lands her punch right where he needed it most, knocking out a couple of his teeth in the process. The larger man grabs her arm, twists it behind her and pulls her toward him as the man she punched staggers toward her. She cries out in pain, kicking out her legs and flailing wildly; Anna manages to kick the approaching pirate once in the belly and once again in the head, and he falls unceremoniously to the floor, not unconscious but certainly too dazed to be of much help to his companion.

Unfortunately, the larger man doesn’t need his help. He grabs hold of her other arm and yanks on her harder, and Anna screams at the sudden searing pain in her shoulders. “Quiet down, you little brat, or I’ll quiet you myself!”

But Anna continues to thrash about, screaming and trying as hard as she can to wriggle out of her captor’s grasp, absolutely refusing to be taken from her prison…

And miraculously, he lets go.

Anna wastes no time in scrambling to her feet, whipping around to face him only to find that he’s collapsed, face-first, onto the floor of her cell. Someone is in the doorway, the barrel of his pistol in hand; Anna backs herself into the corner, throwing her hands out in front of her and preparing to hold off whichever new enemy has stumbled into her cell. “Stay back!”

The man stops where he stands, face round and brown eyes wide, innocent, his hands held up just the same as her own. “ _Tout va bien_ ,” he says quickly. “ _Tout va bien_. _Vous êtes sauve_.”

Whatever he’s saying, it sounds innocent enough, and he seems to mean it; nevertheless, Anna remains apprehensive, pressing herself close to the wall despite his reassuring voice.

“ _Auguste! Elle est là? Elle est_ —”

As Hans rounds the corner and comes into view, Anna is shocked by his appearance, unsure if she would have even recognized him had she not just heard him speak. She’s never seen him so utterly undone. His hair is mussed, his normally pristine clothes covered in gunpowder and splotches of blood, his heaving chest drenched in sweat. Her eye is drawn to a trickle of blood leaving a dark red trail down the side of his face; it doesn’t appear to be the first of its kind, there’s dried, cracked blood all _over_ his face.

Hans looks like something out of Anna’s worst nightmares, but she’s shocked to realize she’s as grateful to see him as he seems to be to see her. All of the fight leaves him on a long sigh the moment he lays eyes on her.

“The situation above deck has been…settled,” Hans explains. “A lapse in judgment on the part of my quartermaster. You’re unharmed?”

Anna swallows, then nods, slowly pushing herself from the wall. He doesn’t come to comfort her. She doesn’t want him to.

“ _Emmenez-les_ ,” Hans calls over his shoulder, and several members of his crew enter her cell and carry out her attackers. Once they’re gone, Hans then turns to the man who saved her—was Auguste his name?—and rests a hand on his shoulder. “ _Merci bien_ ,” he says softly, sounding, to Anna’s ear, remarkably earnest. Auguste offers him a respectful nod.

When they leave the room, animatedly discussing whatever just happened, Hans leaves her door unguarded, wide open.

Anna knows it isn’t an accident.


	5. Chapter 5

Hans considers himself lucky that he’s at his best when problem-solving, because at the moment, there are more than enough problems to solve.

His head is pounding, both from having been smashed into the deck and from the questions that rattle around his brain. Elsa couldn’t have sent a crew to find her so soon—assuming Elsa didn’t believe her sister had simply perished at sea—but it’s possible, certainly. He only took Anna’s ship little more than a fortnight ago, out in the Skagerrak, but she’d been traveling to Amsterdam, only a four day journey from her home. Elsa must know by now that Anna is missing, but to have already launched a search, and to have found them so quickly? Then again, there seem to be magics in her kingdom besides those she can command. Perhaps she’s found some other way to learn her sister’s fate.

The problems he now has onboard are just as pressing. Losing Roland, his quartermaster and right hand, is a blow from which the entire crew will take ages to recover. They won’t mourn for long, they can’t, when the ship still needs to run, but they’ll be out of sorts for some time. They’ll need to select one of their own to replace Roland as quartermaster; he’ll recommend Auguste, but the decision is ultimately theirs, not his, and if Hans didn’t know they’d mutiny if he took that choice from them, he’d select Auguste himself. As if that weren’t enough, Hans, now the only one among them with any formal language training, is also the only person on board who can speak a lick of Spanish. He can depend on Lorenzo for some translation, at least, but…

“Left him in the hold for you,” Auguste says, and the sound finally brings Hans’s racing mind to a halt. “Figured you’d want to deal with him yourself.”

Hans grimaces. “You figured correctly. The others have been taken care of, I assume.”

Auguste nods, expression grim as he leads Hans to the prisoner. “Rest of the crew’s calling for blood. We’ll deal with him afterward?”

He’s consoled by the fact that his crew is so hungry for vengeance for Roland’s death; their fury allows him to be as cold and cruel as he wants to be without striking fear into their hearts. “I intend to make him pay for what he’s done, not to worry.”

When Hans enters the dark, bare room, his prisoner doesn’t so much as flinch. The man who’d towered over Anna has been bound, shackled to the floor, low to the ground and hunched over so that Hans can’t see much of him. His black hair is matted and caked in blood, the same as his thick beard. Once the man finally looks up, he graces Hans with a wide, yellow-toothed grin and spits on the ground before him.

Hans kneels in front of the man, tempted to kill him here and now for his crimes, but there are questions he needs answered first. “Your name?”

“Torbjørn,” growls the man.

He thought he’d caught bits and pieces of Norwegian during the skirmish on deck, but having it confirmed is helpful. “Hans Westergaard.”

“I know you, little prince.” Torbjørn sneers. “You’re the one who tried to take over that kingdom. Surprised you’re still usin’ your family name. Didn’ they disown you?”

Hans chuckles and shifts his weight so that he’s seated comfortably before his prisoner. “Not to my knowledge, though you are likely more informed than I. We aren’t exactly in touch.”

“Be hard for you to go home, anyway, huh, pretty? All they’d talk about in them Danish ports was you.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know that I’d call it ‘home.’ I’d rather not discuss it, to be honest. I’m much more interested in your home. Is Norwegian your native tongue?”

Torbjørn scrunches up his nose, lip curled upward as he snarls, “What’s it matter to you?”

“I was merely curious,” Hans begins, “because it’s the native tongue of the princess, and her sister as well. You may have heard of her. Queen Elsa of Arendelle?”

Torbjørn’s tough, icy front melts away in an instant. “The…the ice witch?”

“The very same. You wouldn’t happen to be familiar with her, would you?”

“Me, familiar with the Queen of Arendelle?” He gives a harsh, barking laugh. “Not all o’ us are on firs’ name basis with the local royalty, Your Highness.”

For a man about to be brutally murdered, Torbjørn treats his situation with a remarkable facetiousness. Rather than commenting on it, Hans allows him this final defiance; they’ll be pulling his corpse up out of the water soon enough. “I understand your confusion. I just find it…odd, that I kidnap Queen Elsa’s sister and not two weeks later, I find my ship boarded by Norwegian pirates who immediately attempt to steal her away from me.”

“You…you think we came ‘ere for her? We didn’ know she was ‘ere.”

In lieu of responding, Hans steeples his fingers and waits patiently for the man to crack. They always do.

Torbjørn is unfazed. “We weren’ gonna take her. We didn’ even know she was there until she started screamin’. Your little pet begged to be…”

“I suggest you stop talking about her that way,” Hans advises, but there’s a palpable tension in his chest that didn’t exist before. “Immediately.”

Torbjørn might not be aware of how little time he has left, but the men at Hans’s back are. Behind him, Hans can feel his men responding to what he’s said. Though they don’t understand the language, they understand the commanding tone he’s taken with Torbjørn, one they’ve only heard in the direst of situations. Hans hears them shift to stand straighter, hears the quiet rustling of their clothing that signifies their reaching for their weapons.

His prisoner frowns, but at least now he seems to understand when to back down. Perhaps Torbjørn had read the room better than Hans thought he had. “The princess wanted to go. Yellin’ for help an’ all that. Me an’ my mate heard her and opened the door. That’s the end of it.”

“You truly had no idea that Princess Anna could be on board before coming onto my ship.”

Torbjørn does not dignify this with any sort of response. Hans stares him down, rises and looms over him in a final attempt to get the man to talk, but it would appear that Torbjørn has nothing else to say. Perhaps it was a mistake, a band of overzealous pirates in the wrong place at the wrong time. But just to be sure…

“Splendid. Then I’ve no further use for you.” Casually, Hans turns to one of his men. “Keelhaul him,” he says, bored and callous, and two of his men—Marcel and Lorenzo, the two who’d loved Roland most dearly, Hans couldn’t have planned it better if he’d tried—come forward and hoist Torbjørn up from the ground. The formerly gruff, unyielding man turns white as a sheet in seconds.

“Wait! No, no please! You can’t keelhaul me! I’m beggin’ you! I didn’ know, I swear, I didn’, but—”

“But what? What, then, do you believe to be a suitable punishment for the man who both attempted to kidnap my hostage and succeeded in killing my quartermaster?” asks Hans, tilting his head with mock curiosity.

“I’ll work,” Torbjørn pleads, all semblance of pride lost as he tugs fruitlessly at his bonds and squirms in the arms of his captors. “I’ll do anything, I’ll keep my ‘ead down an’ work like a dog, please…”

“Will you?” Hans beams at him, looking for all the world like a proud father praising his son. “Will you be able to take the place of the man I lost? How many languages do you speak? Have you been sailing since you were a boy? Can you lead a band of men into battle without hesitation and succeed each time?”

Torbjørn trembles, swallows, and doesn’t respond.

“It would appear to me,” continues Hans, “that despite your protestations, I’ve been left with the short end of the stick.” He gestures to his men, who each move to take one of the man’s arms. “Take him up to the deck. There should be plenty of rope for you to use.”

With an anguished howl, Torbjørn writhes against Marcel and Lorenzo’s grips. “Please, I swear, I didn’ know, I swear…”

Turning on his heel, Hans gives the man a reassuring smile. “Not to worry. I believe you.”

— — — — — — —

After the keelhauling is ended, Hans returns to Anna’s cell, but she is nowhere to be found. “She’s down here somewhere,” says Emmanuel with a shrug. “Went off that way. Very sprightly, she is.”

“Sprightly,” Hans thinks, is a rather kind way of describing Anna and her hyperactivity, which must only be worse now that she’s finally free to do as she pleases. Hans suspects that her natural need to get into things she shouldn’t has taken her to the storeroom, so he takes up a lantern and heads there first. “Anna?”

She pokes her head out from behind a pile of boxes like a puppet would pop out from behind a flat. Any fear that she’d been hurt by the other pirates is instantly assuaged by the careless way in which she clambers over them to see him better. “What are you doing?” Hans inquires, taking note of the dirt on her face and mentally reminding himself to have someone fill her washbasin with fresh water as soon as possible.

“Exploring,” Anna chirps. “I’m bored. They wouldn’t let me above deck.” She hops down to the floor, a spring in her step despite her looking an absolute mess after her weeks of captivity. “You gonna show me my room?”

He gestures out into the corridor. “Right this way.”

Expecting her to follow calmly is unreasonable. She all but skips down the hall behind him, catching up to him and walking ahead and stopping to look at random objects along the way. At least letting her go has brought her back to herself somewhat. “What happened to those other pirates?”

He thinks of the look on Torbjørn’s face as they raised him out of the water…at least, what was left of his face. “You’ve no need to fear them anymore.”

Anna instantly gathers his meaning, inhaling sharply through her nose and crossing her arms over her chest, her pace now markedly slower. “Thank that…Auguste? Tell him I said thank you for saving me.” She pauses a moment before glaring up at him. “Sort of saving me.”

He knows she’s bothered by the idea of the Norwegian pirates dead, but Hans has no desire to attempt to reassure her. A standard procedure to which she’ll have to grow accustomed. “I will,” he replies, stopping before a plain looking wooden door on his right side. They’ve reached their destination; he opens the door and shows her in. “Your room.”

It’s sparsely furnished, but as cozy as he could make it considering their circumstances. Her quarters are equipped with a wardrobe, bed, and desk, more than many could ask for: the primary benefit of having taken and kept the dignitary’s ship, which had far more suitable accommodations for royalty than anything else he could find in another port.

Hans gets no ‘thank you’ for his efforts, but he hadn’t expected one. Anna flops onto the bed and moans, stretching out like a cat before rolling onto her side and closing her eyes. “No chance you have anything I can change into? Nightgown, spare dress, anything?”

“Do I have a nightgown or spare dress? No,” Hans teases. He nods toward the large wardrobe in the corner of the room. “Your things are here for you.”

“My…” She blinks, bolts upright, stares at him. “You brought my things from the ship?”

“Of course. What else could I expect you to wear?”

Anna doesn’t even bother to acknowledge his response; she’s far too busy rummaging through the drawers, tossing random objects here and there until she finds whatever it was she was looking for. “Oh, thank God,” she moans, clutching the article of clothing to her breast. “It’s been so long, I was afraid I was going to have to ask you for—” Anna suddenly stops, blushing furiously and hastily stowing the garment back into the wardrobe. When he opens his mouth to ask what she’s talking about, she starts picking up the items she’s strewn across the floor and shoving them back into the wardrobe as well.

“It’s, uh, nothing. Thanks for getting my stuff, I guess.”

He thinks about the two and a half weeks she’s spent on his ship, thinks of how frequently and consistently his sisters-in-law and the nieces who grew up alongside him were “indisposed”, and suddenly he can do much better than hazard a guess at the cause of her embarrassment. “Ah,” he replies vaguely.

Anna’s eyes dart from the wardrobe to the door to him. She presses her lips tightly together and nods in time with the slow, rollicking waves that carry them before she parts her lips—and breaks their uncomfortable silence—with a loud pop. “Can you, um…”

“Certainly, ah…sleep well.” Grateful to be able to escape her—a spell of insanity may well be on the way any day now, perhaps he should avoid her for a while—Hans exits the room, for once taking no pleasure in hearing her humiliated groan.

In his haste to return to his quarters, he nearly misses Anna’s call of his name.

“Hans?”

He turns to see Anna leaning out of her room, looking conflicted, wringing her hands. “Thanks for the room, too. I mean, it’s common decency, but…thanks for not being as horrible as you could have been.”

Hans takes half a step to approach her, begins to say “you’re welcome”, but she closes the door before he has the chance to reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keelhauling is unpleasant, to say the least. More info on that here (semi-graphic description within): http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Keelhauling


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please correct my French I tried so hard but I know I'm wrong lol

The moment she hoists herself up onto the deck, Anna takes in a huge gulp of sea air and lays flat on her back on the boards, arms outstretched as she suns herself. She can actually hear the crashing of each wave now, not just the dull, heavy sounds she’d heard below deck. Each breeze that rolls by carries with it the salty fragrance of sea spray, strong enough that she can almost taste it on her tongue. The sun is so bright that she can hardly keep her eyes open. Despite wanting to see everything that she can, taking in the sight of the beautiful blue expanses both above and below her, Anna feels her eyelids drooping and does nothing to stop it, her head lolling to one side against the weathered wood of the deck, finally relaxed for the first time since her capture.

“ _Madame_?”

Anna opens her eyes to see two men standing over her looking thoroughly puzzled. The first is Auguste, stout and jovial and wonderfully familiar, but the second, a handsome, willowy blond, she has never seen. She rises to her feet, face warm as the second man approaches her—of course he does, of _course_ he does, thank God she’d taken a moment to scrub the weeks of filth from her body before coming up here—and asks her a question that she can’t make heads or tails of.

“Huh?”

 _Eloquent as always_ , Anna hears Hans say in her mind, and she pushes the thought away. She gets more than enough of him as it is; she doesn’t need his voice in her head, too.

“ _Euh…”_ The man snaps his fingers for a moment, making a circular motion with his hand as he tries to simplify his question. “… _verre d'eau_?”

 _Why_ hadn’t she listened during her French lessons? At the moment, despite every misfortune that has befallen Anna in the past few weeks, daydreaming about daring romances instead of paying attention to her slow-talking instructor feels like her gravest mistake. Pirates are not allowed to be attractive, she concludes. Pirates and lying, self-serving princes.

Anna searches the far recesses of her mind for one word, any word that she could have possibly retained, but is saved the trouble when he starts to mime drinking something: _water_. “Oh! No, no, I’m okay, thank you.”

He’s reaching for her face. She can’t believe that the first things she gets to experience after ages of captivity are the most beautiful ocean views she’s ever seen and an equally beautiful man doting on her. Would it upset Hans if this man touched her as tenderly as he is about to touch her? Anna thinks it just might, and upsetting Hans may very well be the happiest thing she can think of. Then again, Hans killing this guy is definitely not worth the momentary gain of seeing him angry. And besides, this guy is totally flirting with her, and she is totally, totally taken. Forget what Hans would say; what would _Kristoff_ say?

Just as a pang of guilt strikes Anna’s heart, the man’s hand rests on her forehead as he…takes her temperature. “ _Elle va bien?”_ he whispers to Auguste out of the corner of his mouth, apparently trying to be discreet.

“ _Je ne sais pas_ ,” answers Auguste. He glances at Anna and clears his throat. “My lady…”

“You speak Norwegian? Oh, thank goodness. I thought that none of you spoke anything but French, I was afraid that the only person I’d be able to talk to was Hans, and I wasn’t exactly thrilled about that, you know, but this is great! Do you know where we’re going? How far are we from…”

But she stops, as her rapid-fire speech seems to have left both Auguste and the stranger bewildered. Auguste chuckles nervously. “I am sorry…I understand, the captain, but to speak is…”

His thick accent is hard to understand, but Anna has gotten the gist. “Oh. Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’ll go slower.” She clears her throat and speaks at a more careful, measured pace. “Where are we going?”

Auguste hesitates, looking to the blond man before giving her a sympathetic look. “I cannot say.”

“Because Hans wouldn’t want you telling me, I’m sure.” Anna groans; even if she could manage to befriend any of the other men on board, they’re still _his_ men. She’ll have to try to figure it out herself.

Just in front of her is the main mast, and there’s a decently large platform at the bottom of the topmost sail, where she’ll probably be able to see more clearly. Throwing caution to the wind, Anna takes hold of some of the rigging and begins to climb, rather clumsily, up to it. Below her, she can hear both Auguste and the other man shouting at her, but she continues her climb, even as she feels one of them begin to climb up after her.

The farther up she goes, the more the rocking of the boat seems to affect her; Anna keeps being pulled this way and that with each movement. Rough ropes scratch at her hands as she grips them more tightly to avoid falling, leaving her palms burning. She can’t imagine having to do this all the time to adjust the sails…until she pulls herself up onto the platform and takes in the view.

Nothing but water as far as she can see. Some very far-off, fluffy clouds almost in the direction they’re going, but otherwise, Anna’s entire world consists of the wooden boards at her feet, the wind at her back, and the ocean that surrounds her. Looking out over her shoulder, Anna can see that another ship is following closely behind them. Is it theirs? The crew must know it’s there, and no one on board seems to be concerned. With not much else to look at, Anna watches the sails billowing with the winds. A solitary gull passes her by, heading just slightly left of whatever direction they’re going; if only she could sprout wings and follow it to wherever it calls home.

Anna doesn’t know what she expected to see besides the vast ocean, but she’d been hoping she’d see land. Home. He has to head toward Arendelle eventually, for vengeance or for payment…right?

Just as her gull disappears from view, the ship pitches to one side, throwing Anna dangerously off-balance. With a yelp, Anna throws out her arms and wraps them around the mast in the tightest embrace she’s ever given. A dull thud from behind her signifies that her pursuer has finally caught up to her.

“ _Madame_ …”

“ _Marcel!_ ”

Anna and Handsome Marcel look down from the platform to see Hans waiting on deck. At the sight of Anna up on the platform, Hans rolls his eyes and pinches the space between them. “ _Hvad fan_ …Anna, what are you doing? Come down from there.”

Upsetting him is so much easier than she thought it would be. “I like it up here,” Anna calls back, biting back a giggle at his Danish curse cut short. It really is difficult to be too angry with Hans when he’s being so entertaining. “I think I’ll stay.”

Once Hans is done grumbling or swearing or whatever he’s doing down there, he beckons them with a curl of his finger. “ _Amène-moi la princesse, s'il te plaît_.”

Anna can't control the tingle that sweeps through her as he gives Marcel the order; apart from half a curse, she's only ever really heard him speak Norwegian, and the sound of another language, while just as practiced, makes her face feel a bit too warm for her liking. She wonders what he sounds like when he speaks his mother tongue. Is that air of practice and unnatural perfection present in everything he speaks, or would his Danish sound softer, more natural?

She’s woken from her daydream as Marcel holds out his hand to help her down. Anna really does not like the sound of going back down to Hans, but she can’t stay here forever. “I can get myself down,” she says, waving his hand away. “But thank you.”

The climb down doesn’t last nearly long enough. Hardly a moment goes by before Anna is standing before an exasperated Hans, who sends his men away with a simple “ _Merci,”_ and doesn’t even wait for them to get out of earshot before he starts in on her. “What is the matter with you? Do you realize how high up you were? I’m sure you had no idea, clueless as you are, but that was incredibly dangerous…”

“Yeah, pretty sure I’m already in about as much danger as I can be, so.” Anna fiddles with the rigging, gazing longingly back up at the platform. “And anyway, it was nice up there. A lot better than being down here.” _And I got to see you get all huffy and puffy over nothing,_ she thinks.

“I’m not surprised.” Hans sniggers. “Seems like every one of your favorite places is about fifty feet in the air.”

She almost asks him how he knows before stopping herself. Anna hates that he knows so much about her, that she opened up and let him into her world for even a moment. “You are so—“

A young man pokes his head out from the cabin at the rear of the ship. “ _Capitaine_!”

“ _Un instant_ ,” says Hans. The pirate retreats back into the cabin as quickly as he emerged.

“What’s in there?” Anna asks, forgetting to be angry with him for a moment as her curiosity gets the better of her.

She hears Hans begin to respond, but she doesn’t actually want him to answer her question; instead, she walks over and leans up against the door frame, looking in on the spacious cabin. At the center of the room is a large table, littered with papers and maps, which several of the crew members have gathered around. Just behind it is a post that extends from ceiling to floor: an extension of the mizzen mast that cuts through the center of the room. On the farthest wall is a small row of windows, offering a view of the sea. For all intents and purposes, it appears to be some kind of meeting room, but Anna can see a polished wooden desk against the left wall, a chest of drawers just beside it, and a bed similar to her own in the far right corner.

“My cabin,” says Hans, gently taking her arm and leading her away from the door.

“Kept the nicest space for yourself, huh?”

Hans gives her a tight-lipped, patronizing smile. “Why, Anna, are you jealous? After everything I’ve given you, you want my quarters as well? Or just a place in them?”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Anna groans; view or no view, she’d much rather spend her nights in her room below deck, with as much space between herself and Hans as possible. “Believe me, I don’t want a place anywhere near you. Although you sound pretty eager to share.”

“Not half so eager as you are, I expect.”

His continued denial of his…can she call it affection?...his _attachment_ to her does nothing but strengthen Anna’s suspicions that Hans wants more out of her than just the gold she’ll fetch when he finally decides to ransom her off, though that ‘when’ is beginning to feel more like an ‘if’. Rather than responding, Anna strides purposefully away from him to the edge of the deck and begins searching again for signs of land.

Out of the corner of her eye, Anna can see that other ship again, even closer than it was before. “Whose ship is that?”

“It belonged to the pirates who boarded us,” Hans says. “But it doesn’t any longer.”

There are two sets of stairs leading to the quarterdeck above Hans’s cabin, and Anna bounds up the steps two at a time to see the trailing ship better. Some of the men on board look familiar: men who brought her food or water or a clean chamberpot. “One ship wasn’t enough?” Anna gasps. “Are you raising a pirate army?!”

At this, Hans openly laughs. Anna didn’t think she’d ever hear him laugh that way again, the way he did at her sister’s coronation. She falters a moment as she remembers the last time she heard it: racing him down the hall to the ballroom, giddy with the anticipation of sharing her good news with Elsa. That joyful, free feeling sweeps over her before giving way to something darker, something painful and tight and lonely, and she swallows it down.

“We aren’t keeping the ship, Anna,” he continues, the laughter still present in his tone. “I sent some of my men to sail it, but we’ll be selling it when we come into port.”

Into port? “You mean…we _will_ be stopping.”

“That we will.”

“In, like, an actual city? On land?” Even beyond a chance to get home, just the thought of stable, solid ground beneath her is enough to make her want to dance and cheer.

Hans, however, doesn’t seem to share her enthusiasm. “I don’t think I was this thoroughly interrogated even upon leaving your kingdom. Yes, Anna, we’ll be stopping in Santander and selling the vessel.”

“Santander?” Anna tilts her head, racking her brain but having absolutely no idea where the place he’s mentioned could be. “Where’s that?”

Hans smiles and shakes his head at her lack of geographical knowledge (or perhaps her fifth question in as many minutes), then turns back to the sea, resting his elbows on the rail. “Spain.”

If only she’d been drinking something, she could have spat a mouthful all over his face. “ _Spain?!_ ”

“We were headed in that direction when we were attacked,” Hans continues as if he hadn’t heard her outburst. “My former quartermaster had a contact there we’d been planning to meet for…other reasons.”

At first, all Anna can feel is a sweeping sensation of panic at being so far from home, but a very different feeling slowly begins to grow in her chest…excitement? She’d always wanted to see the world, after all, but never before has she gotten the chance to go as far as Spain…in between every vision of herself knocking out Hans comes a vision of herself passing old stone buildings surrounded by lush vegetation, or strolling along sandy beaches and gazing out at the blue-green sea. Perhaps when she finally manages to give Hans the slip, Anna can write to Elsa and then just take her time getting back home…

Wait…

“Will I…will we get a chance to leave the ship and go into town?”

“Some of us will,” Hans replies vaguely, not looking her in the eye.

He doesn’t elaborate. Dreading the answer she knows is coming, Anna puts her hands on her hips and huffs, “Some of us being…”

“Not you.”

Anna pouts. Should have known. “You’re a terrible host, you know.”

“I’d rather be a terrible host than a host who loses his guest.”

“I’m not going to get _lost_ ,” Anna snaps.

Hans gives her a withering look. “Ah, you’re right, you’ve not expressed _any_ desire to run away from me and get home, and I _certainly_ needn’t worry about any kind of vengeance for your kidnapping…”

“Okay, but, so what? You don’t think you can handle me or something?”

That seems to strike a nerve. “Anna, you’ll be staying on board. You should consider yourself lucky that you’ve been given the privileges you already have.”

“ _Privileges_?” Instinctively, Anna finds herself on the verge of whining, until she’s struck with a sudden thought. She remembers how Hans seemed to stop cold when she took a more commanding tone, the way he’d relented to each of her demands, the hunger she’d felt in his forceful kiss.

Anna isn’t sure…but maybe…

Praying that her idea works, Anna arranges her features into a near perfect mask of confidence and authority. “I am going to leave this ship when we get to Santander.”

She watches, waits, and still, he gives her nothing. “Am I…being clear?” Anna asks, lacing her words with the same condescension he so often uses with her.

When Hans finally does speak, he does so with the tiniest of rasps, as if his throat has gone dry. “You will do no such thing.”

Trying her hardest to channel the tightly coiled anger in the pit of her stomach, Anna lowers her voice and grips his chin firmly in her hand to draw him closer; even when Hans takes her by the wrist and wrenches her hand away, Anna doesn’t budge. “I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. Whether you want me to or not, I’m going into Santander.”

The gravelly tone of her own voice gives her a thrill from head to toe; she feels _strong_. In control. She revels in the sight of his face flushing, his lips parting ever so slightly as he prepares to respond but can’t seem to find the words as Anna fixes him with a piercing stare. Hans glares back, not loosening his hold on her, inching ever closer to her, so close that Anna thinks she can feel the heat from his face. Anna does the best she can to control her labored breathing; the air between them is charged, heavy, laden with things unexpressed, both old and new. His free hand twitches upward, for just a moment, as though he’s actively resisting the urge to touch her, to rest his hand on the small of her back and…

He clenches his fist at his side.

“You’ll stay with me,” Hans growls, breath mingling with her own. “At my side the entire evening. From the moment you set foot on dry land to the moment you walk back onto my ship. You won’t try to escape me. You won’t speak a word of who we are. You will do exactly as you are told. Is that understood?”

Anna’s so shocked that it worked, she nearly drops the act. “Yes,” she whispers shakily, refusing to break eye contact.

Neither of them move, both waiting for something unknown. Does Hans want…should she give him something, some kind of confirmation that he’d made the right decision in giving her what she wanted? His hold on her wrist is as firm as ever, but neither yanking her arm back nor drawing closer to him seem like the right thing to do…

“ _Capitaine_?”

Hans and Anna both jump, turning to face Auguste, who, to his credit, behaves as though he’d interrupted nothing more than a lighthearted discussion about the weather. “ _Madame_ ,” he adds with a polite little bow in Anna’s direction. “ _Capitaine, pardon, l'équipage_ …”

Hans quickly releases Anna’s wrist and nods to Auguste before turning his attention back to Anna. “Don’t give my men any more grief,” Hans warns, and leaves her without another word.

As Hans and Auguste take the steps down to the main deck, Anna watches him leave, baffled by his ability to pretend as though nothing had just happened between the two of them. She’d _won_ and she’s more shaken than he is, still struggling to take back control of her lungs as her skin crawls. Isn’t victory supposed to feel good? This only makes her feel…uncomfortable. Guilty. Maybe it’s because she’s hasn’t really won at all. It had been so easy…too easy. Is this all an act? Is Hans just trying to lull her into a false sense of…not even security, a false sense of _power_?

But it isn’t false. She’d won.

She’d _won_.

Anna waves her unrest away with several sharp flicks of her wrists, letting the guilt give way to the strength she feels growing within her. Trick or no, whatever is happening between them is the only chance she seems to have at getting back to her family…and no matter how it makes her feel, Anna will be damned if she doesn’t take it.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to finish the pirate!AU but didn't want to keep logging into Tumblr to post it when I'm trying to leave that website...kinda defeats the purpose of me LEAVING lol...hence the fic's presence here. I can also put on content warnings for the entire work more easily which is nice, and honestly just putting it all in one consolidated post makes everything easier for everyone ever. First few chapters are awkward short lengths because this was originally a short series of drabbles that has since spiraled completely out of control.
> 
> This is the only fic I'll be putting here! All my old stuff is at my Tumblr archive (dinospumoniarchive.tumblr.com) and once this is done, I'm done too. :)


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